Ah, the dear dead 70s,
when disco was king. Too bad this movie came out in the dear dead 80s, when disco was not
king. In fact, it came out at just the time when disco was being ridiculed in popular
culture. Some movies probably couldn't be a hit at any time but their given day. Saturday
Night Fever, for example, probably wouldn't have been a hit at any time other than the
70s, or the nostalgia-friendly 90s.

Can't Stop the Music came out at precisely the wrong time for a
disco "musical" (and to use this term is to give the word a very broad
definition) and that is the least of its problems. It wouldn't have been in a hit in any
day or age. If Thomas Edison had rushed to the patent office with his movie camera and
this on the film, they would have roughed him up and tossed him into the street. In fact,
add up the quick facts on paper (Rosie, the woman in the "Bounty" commercials
directs, the Village People sing, Bruce Jenner acts), and you'll wonder why anyone dared
make this movie.

In a nutshell: Saturday Night
Fever--box office smash, even critical praise, and a top-selling soundtrack.
Allan Carr, producer of Can't Stop the Music , was also the producer of the hit Grease.
Incidentally, I despise that movie and everything about it, but there's no denying that it
made serious cash. That's why this sucker got made, and it's probably why Allan Carr was
able to keep going after it bombed. Subsequent efforts by Mr. Carr seem to indicate that
his Grease success was a lucky shot.

Before we begin, one very strange factoid...I found a copy of this
movie at Rogers Video under the Gay and Lesbian section. Ah, you know you've got KWAM
material when they can't even figure out where to stash the video at your local renter
(try the trash guys). Sexuality is not a direct issue in this movie, though it does take
on a bizarre subtext. It seems insulting to make it share shelf space with The Sound of
Music in the Musical section, and although the results are terrifying, there's no
blood so it can't go into Horror. Most of the movies in the G&L section feature
leading characters that are gay or have homosexuality as a theme. I guess they thought,
"Ah, the Village People were a gay singing group, let's just toss it here and forget
about it." Doesn't explain why they also store the tapes of the Britcom Absolutely
Fabulous here, though.

The opening credits alone raise an eyebrow. We see a keyboard beneath a
half-circle, showing New York City. Glittering credits identify this as an "An Allan
Carr Production." This is the last time such a credit will be taken seriously. As if
this movie didn't do enough damage, Carr followed this up with Grease 2 and Where
the Boys Are 84. Mr. Carr has the distinction of being mentioned in Jan and Michael
Stern's Encyclopedia of Bad Taste as a result of films such as these.

Soon, we're looking at a
crowded record store. The PA calls Jack Morell to the cash. Jack (Steve Guttenberg) bops
around the store on roller skates. He rolls up to the counter and asks his boss if he can
leave on time tonight. "It's practically a matter of life or death," he says. It
seems Mr. Morell has a chance to DJ at a local club. But Boss is not understanding.
"As soon as we get these..." he pauses, looking at his customers,
"...loonies out of here, we are taking inventory." Well Boss man, if you want to
get your customers out of here, insulting them is a good way to do it. Jack pleads some
more, but Boss is adamant. Boss issues the ultimatum that if Jack isn't here tonight, he's
out of a job.

"I am a composer," announces Jack, "not a schlepper
salesman," getting on the PA to broadcast that he's quitting. "My time is
now!" he announces. Actually Steve, after this little career setback, your time will
come several years later with Cocoon and Three Men and a Baby. First though,
you'll have to endure a string of Police Academy movies. Unaware of this, Jack says
that the next time Boss does inventory, he will inventory the records of Jack Morell. And
he's absolutely right. Boss will have to inventory them, because people won't buy them.

Jack skates out of the store. Guttenberg does not spend the entire
movie on roller skates, but judging by his performance, it is possible that he does spend
the entire movie on amphetamines. He squeaks and fidgets and squirms like a four-year-old
on a sugar rush. Anyway, as Jack skates into the bright future, a song starts to play, and
the main credits roll.

In my opinion, any ol' bad movie can have lousy actors, a bad script
and dopey dialogue. It takes a REAL bad movie to have awful credits. This credit sequence
looks like it was filmed by your local municipal news station trying desperately to be
hip. The screen splits into three shots. On the left and right, we get two different close
ups of Jack, grinning like an idiot. The centre image shows Jack skating down the streets
of NYC. Your irritation level isn't quite at the point where you wish a Mack truck would
come along to flatten Jack bringing this movie to a hasty conclusion, but give it time.

The song is "Sound of the City" and basically plays like a
bad travelogue for New York. It describes the things you can do there. See the Yankees,
ride the subway...it omits getting mugged in Central Park, though. The lyrics are inane
(see IMMORTAL DIALOGUE), and sadly, this is one of the better songs in the movie.

really silly credits appear, too. "Cameo guest appearance by Leigh
Taylor-Young." Uh, you're supposed to save it for a surprise. "Introducing Bruce
Jenner." Introducing? He's an Olympic medallist, remember? "Milk Shake and
Gallery Ensembles For Village People Designed by Theoni V. Alderedge." That one is so
out there I can't even think of anything snotty to say about it.

And finally, a credit you've not seen before and are unlikely to ever
see again: "Directed by Nancy Walker." Nancy Walker is probably best known as
Rhoda Morganstern's mom on the TV show Rhoda and as Rosie, the Bounty Lady. You
know, she runs a diner, doofus customers spill stuff, but she uses "The quicker
picker upper" to clean up the mess. Somebody saw those commercials and apparently
said, "Hey, wouldn't she be a natural to direct a musical with Bruce Jenner and the
Village People?"

A side note: Andrea Martin has since replaced Walker in the Bounty
commercials. Martin is a talented comedienne who deserves much better. Somebody please get
her some more work. Thank you.

Some highlights of this zany credit sequence...Construction Worker
Village Person is seen briefly rising from an open sewer (very appropriate for this
movie). Steam blows up in his face. You can easily see the cut where they spliced in the
shot of the steam rising with his emerging from the hole (they were obviously filmed
separately). We also see a shot of Jack's roommate Samantha (Valerie Perrine) drawing a
moustache on a bus ad. The model featured in the ad is her.

We also see three buxom women on roller skates, each wearing a tight
T-shirt. The first one has the word "San" printed on it, the second
"Fran" and the third "Cisco." Aren't we in New York? Perhaps this is
some kind of clever foreshadowing. The movie eventually does end up in San Francisco
(well, the movie eventually uses stock footage of San Francisco). Wait, maybe there's a
parallel being drawn between the three buxom gals and the three weird sisters of MacBeth,
who divined his fate! Or am I reading too much into this?

Also in this credit sequence is "Music Composed and Produced By
Jacques Morali." Hmm...and Guttenberg's character is "Jack Morell."
Coincidence? I think not (see AFTERTHOUGHTS for further discussion).

Eventually the song dies
down (much like the genre that spawned it). Jack skates through a park to meet Samantha.
He does this by skating up behind her and grabbing her ass, a scene Guttenberg manages to
portray with enthusiasm. She squeaks and turns around laughing, instead of spraying Jack
with mace. We will soon learn that they are not lovers, but platonic friends, making that
greeting seem even less appropriate. I generally don't greet my friends my grabbing their
asses, and for that, they are grateful.

In this movie, nobody speaks their dialogue so much as squeals it. It
makes conversations very hard to follow at times. In this one, Sam and Jack sound like two
porpoises conversing. Listening carefully, we learn Sam's just quit her modeling job, so
she plans to eat as much as she wants. Sam apparently was quite a successful model (at one
point another character refers to her as "The Garbo of Models").

One question: if she's a retired model, one who is as famous as the
movie claims, what the hell is she doing hanging out with Jack? He's a cashier at a record
store and occasional DJ (now just an occasional DJ) and a little out of her crowd. If she
can quit her job and still live in her apartment (a large one in the Village), it seems a
fair assumption she's got some money. Why is she letting her stay with him? To help him
with his career plans, apparently. It would be like Cindy Crawford helping me with my
career plans. Hey, I'd appreciate it, but I'm not holding my breath.

Sam is a little worried about Jack quitting. Jack says that she may
have ended her glamorous career, but his is just beginning. "Hey, I'm in show
business!" he cries (Oh Steve, if only you knew!). During this conversation, I swear
a windsurfer breezes through the pair. It's moments like this that you think this movie is
a dream you're having while under anesthetic. Some "playful" shenanigans break
out, as Sam pulls Jack along on his skates. Sam is doing all the work pulling him, a
wonderful metaphor for their relationship.

Arriving at Sam's spacious apartment, we see that someone is waiting
for her. It's one of the Village People, Felipe (Felipe Rose). This is supposed to be the
story of how the Village People got together, so they all use their real names. Felipe is
dressed in a campy Indian costume, complete with warpaint and a big honking headdress.
Why? Don't worry, Sam will explain it later. Not. Notice I don't say "Native
American." He's dressed like a Hollywood Indian from a by-the-numbers western. To
call that Native American would just be insulting. I just wonder how he gets along with
the Cowboy Village Person.

Sam asks what he's doing here. All hands brace for impact, as for the
first time, one of the Village People tries to act.

"My-TV-broke," he says nasally, as though he has a clothespin
on his nose. "I-crawled-in-through-the-window-it's-all-right-isn't-it?" Needless
to say, nobody is forgetting Robert Preston in The Music Man as a result of this
performance. Actually, he sounds a lot like a 1st grader wearing an apple costume reciting
something about the four food groups.

to his entering the apartment through the window, Sam responds
"Sure, why not? This is neighborly New York." Oh is that how it works? I'm a
Canadian who's never been to New York, but now that I know this quaint American custom, I
think when I go to NYC I'll just stick my head through a few apartment windows looking for
new friends. Let's see how many windows I sneak through before a) getting arrested, or b)
getting a high-caliber haircut.

More discussion goes on about Jack's recent quitting. Sam is still
worried about what he will do for money. Felipe says she shouldn't be so materialistic.
Yeah Sam, why worry about any silly little details like whether or not he can pay his
share of the rent? Sam says it's the way of the world. "I didn't event it, I'm just
in it," she says.

This line inspires Jack. "I didn't invent I'm just in it," he
repeats, impressed. "I'm just in it, I'm just in it," he "sings" and
then starts having an epileptic fit. Oh wait, he's just trying to dance. It's very easy to
make that mistake in this movie. From this display Jack's ability to compose music, never
mind compose marketable music, becomes a tiny bit suspect. He has about as much
rhythm and an ear for a beat as a squash. If they wanted an actor to play a supposed
musical wunderkind, hiring someone who can sing and dance might have been in order.

During his dancing, he repeatedly strikes the counter, not in time to
the beat, I might add. Sam worries that he'll damage it, but with his new success he says
"I'll buy you ten counters." Then he promises a kitchen, and a restaurant. How
about just a pair of earplugs?

During this conversation, Sam has been watering plants with a small
garden house, and accidentally sprays Felipe. Lots of accidents befall people around Sam
(sadly not the kind the Mob arranges), and each time one happens, she shrieks "OH I'M
SORRY!" in an extremely high-pitched voice. The first time it happened, she shattered
a mug of Coke I was drinking from. The Coke and glass fell on the laptop I was using to
make notes, and now I am suing the makers of this film for damages.

Felipe says "Just what I need, a summer shower." He begins
doing a "rain dance." He concludes it with this weird whistle/hoot that's
supposed to sound like some kind of Indian call. It has obviously been dubbed onto the
track. Lip-syncing isn't a strong point in this movie, so they simply cut away to another
shot of Sam trying to talk to Jack. The first time you hear this sound effect, you wonder
where the hell it came from. Only later do you realize Felipe was supposed to have sung
it. He does it periodically, just in case your blood pressure isn't high enough. I must
admit that this is something that movie does quite well. Just as you've forgotten about
that damn annoying call, bang, there it is.

Sam wants to have "talk time" with Jack. She seems dubious,
but supportive. Jack confides that his mother thinks he's a musical genius, and that
wrestling isn't fake. All right, I admit, I added the bit about wrestling. Jack believes
that Benny Murray, owner of the club he's DJing at, will make him the full-time DJ once he
hears his music. "People are going to start collapsing and big record company's going
to come crawling," enthuses Jack. Well, he's right about the collapsing part.

Now, not a lot of DJs play their own music. They're supposed to play
the latest music that fits the particular scene of wherever it is they're playing. It's
pretty unlikely that execs cruise the local dance clubs looking for new acts to sign.
Maybe Jack can write a song, but his knowledge of the music industry seems rather flimsy.

Jack swears that tonight he
will prove his music is good, or will go back to dental school (apparently, this exactly
what Guttenberg was doing before going into movies, according to Edward Margulies and
Stephen Rebello's book Bad Movies We Love). He gets all solemn. Is he going
to...Uh-huh. He's going to say it. He gets all puppy-eyed and asks for just one thing:
"A chance." All together now: Aaaawwwwwww... No.

Sam says she will go to the club and listen to his music if he's
serious about going back to school. Enter Felipe. "Ready for another moment of
truth?" he asks. What exactly was the first moment of truth? The second turns out to
be that the hose has spilled all over the rug. "Oh no, it must be a mess!" she
squeals.

Let's pause and look up a word apparently not in the filmmakers'
vocabulary.

di(rect-or: noun, one who directs.

See, apparently they thought it would be okay to let first-time
director Nancy Walker do this picture because all a director really does is yell
"action" and "cut." No, done correctly (and studio politics aside),
the director supervises just about everything, in one way or another. If dialogue doesn't
sound right, the director may get the scriptwriters to rewrite the scene right then and
there. If a costume just doesn't look right, the director may order it changed.

The director not only has to direct camera action, but the actors
themselves. If Walker did this, it doesn't show. The actors are constantly screeching
their lines, stumbling all over each other's cues, making most of the dialogue totally
inaudible. Mind you, no big loss considering the quality of the script, but that's beside
the point. When Perrine, Guttenberg et al started overacting badly and badly overacting,
Walker should have stopped and said "Guys, tone it down a notch or ten."

Far too many scenes in this movie have performers running on, babbling
their dialogue, and running off leaving you clueless as to what happened. Now add to this
some sloppy editing and cutting, you've got a movie so poorly made that you wonder if the
scenes were edited together in the right order. In fact, if I were to splice the scenes
together at random, it would be just as coherent and tightly plotted.

Never mind those silly details, though. I know you're all dying to hear
about the carpet. As Felipe leaves to change and Jack leaves to do, oh who cares, we see
Sam. She's crouched on the floor, and doesn't hear Jack saying good-bye. She's too busy
trying to dry the carpet. "Dry darling, dry!" she pleads. She tries to sweet
talk it into drying. This gripping scene is reminiscent of Lady MacBeth rubbing her hands
and murmuring "Out damned spot" in MacBeth--after a few beers and a toke
or two.

Cut to a guy wearing a floral print jacket with glitter, shoving a
machine to get cigarettes. It's Benny Murray, owner of the club. Benny is played by Jack
Weston, who apparently has been in a few good movies, but I say that any career that
includes appearances in Palm Springs Weekend and Short Circuit 2 is forever
barred From the Embarrassed Actor's Scale. Even Guttenberg had the sense to stay out of Short
Circuit 2.

Sam is walking up the stairs of the club with friend Alicia (Altovise
Davis). Alicia isn't a character so much as a plot mechanism. Whenever the movie wants to
introduce a new character, it's done by way of Alicia. Her other function is that she gets
a few of the spare lame jokes.

Alicia marvels at the line-up to get inside. "They line-up to get
into my dry-cleaner," says Sam, apparently reciting dialogue from a different movie.
She attributes this all to "Big Apple Psychology." There, that explains it. When
the movie gets like this, it helps to treat it like anesthetic. Don't fight it, let it
wash over you. You'll soon be asleep and it will all be over before you know it.

Felipe is serving drinks at the club, and true to his word from the
last scene, he's changed. Specifically, he's wearing Indian stuff with slightly different
colours. This must be his formal attire. Felipe informs the ladies that Jack hasn't
started playing his stuff yet, and they're disappointed. They're also crazy. This is a
good thing!

Benny Murray recognizes Sam, and schmooze hound he is, starts warming
up to her. "You know, I've seen you plastered all over New York," he says.
Either he's seen the ads she's posed for, or perhaps he's going to invite her to attend
Alcoholics Anonymous. This movie is shot and directed so badly that it can't portray
anything convincingly, but I think that choice of words was deliberate. Sam responds
"Don't spread it around," which would fit with the double entendre. It's
impossible to say though.

"This place is getting to be a regular Studio 54," says
Benny, and instantly a "Made in the 70s" stamp appears on the film. He mentions
how the guests are getting more upscale, as Calvin Klein's chauffeur was here with the
insignificant assistant of some big 70s designer whose name I can't pick out. The music is
compounding the movie's problem with coherent dialogue.

"How chic!" says Sam. This registers a slightly blip on the
humor scale, like dropping a coffee mug registers a slight blip on the Richter scale. I
might also point out the in the name of getting this one blip of humor, the filmmakers
have sort of speculated that this club kinda sucks, or at least is no big deal. This also
sabotages their earlier plot point that Jack will get a big record deal as a result of
playing music here. Hope the blip was worth it.

"Relax! Boogie!"
offers Benny. "Have yourself a good time!" I took his advice and hit the
"Stop" button and took a little breather at this point. Suddenly I was having a
much better time.

All right, Sam asks Felipe to put her purse behind the bar (they're
going to need a coat check if they want to be a regular Studio 54). She wants to go
dancing. In a bit of humor (a very little bit), she "orders" a man, and begins
dancing. Her dancing, like most in this movie, consists of moving her shoulders back and
forth, and swaying her rear end. At one point, the shot of this "dancing"
includes nothing but her partner pushing her back across the floor. Is this supposed to be
erotic? It's not clear if they're dancing, if he's trying to push her to a secluded area
so he can criminally assault her, or if he needs to go to the restroom and he's trying to
push her out of the way.

During this dance scene we also catch glimpses of Construction Worker
Village Person, and Cowboy Village Person. Benny tries to push some guy to photograph Sam,
but she heads to Jack's DJ booth, and probably got just her behind as she climbs the
stairs. Oddly, a Polaroid of her posterior doesn't surface later in the scene for some
cheap laughs.

Going into the booth, she remarks "This is certainly more fun than
dental school!" Sam, I think the phrase you're looking for is "This is about as
much fun as a root canal."

"You are looking at a King in his castle," cries Jack. He
notes how the equipment he has in front of him can "change the disposition" of
everyone in the club. Different voltage settings on a torture device do much the same
thing.

Again, the music is masking the already cocaine and Extasy-inspired
dialogue, so when Sam says "I should have known that when the music went mad
it would be you at the controls," I had to rewind the movie three or four times
before I realized she wasn't saying "when the music went bad it would be you
at the controls." Do I really need to mention which version is more applicable?

"They're happy," says Jack, looking at the audience.
"They've forgotten everything that worries them." They're paid extras, Jack. A
strange moment follows. Jack gives her a cassette, which he says is for her. "Go
dance," he says. Now, I can't tell if he gave that cassette directly to her, or if he
took it back to play it (Sam doesn't seem to have it in subsequent scenes). Cassettes are
almost never used to play music at any professional gig (than again, this movie needs to
be ten times better to be called "amateur"). The sound quality isn't as good as
vinyl, and they are not as easy to cue. Again, we see a less than perfect understanding of
how the music biz works.

Jack begins to play his song. Out on the dance floor, Samantha mouths
something to him. It could be "I love it," or "I love you," or
"Oh, f*ck you." My vote's for the last one, considering the song. It's called
"Samantha," and obviously it's dedicated to her. There are plenty of pop songs
dedicated to specific girls' names--you can probably write down at least a dozen if you
sat and thought about it. "Hello, Mary Lou," "Lola," "Barbara
Anne."

Unfortunately, the Samanthas of the world are going to have to hold on
a little longer for a good song dedicated to their namesake that they can play at their
weddings. This one has lyrics like "I like that wiggle that you got in your
jeans," and "I love your lips you know they're turning me on." Jack and Sam
are supposed to be platonic friends. But hey, I guess they had a song handy, so they used
it. Particularly amusing is the chorus, which begins with a stuttering
"S-s-s-s-Samantha," as if Ken from A Fish Called Wanda were singing it.

During this musical interlude, we see more bad dancing, and even worse
cutting. One cut is so bad that it looks one woman is ripping off a wig on the dance
floor. It's actually two different women closely edited together, but it sure looked weird
until I rewound it to see what was actually happening. Movie theatres of course don't have
rewind buttons, which is why you're supposed to edit things right the first time.

There's also some soft-core humping-style dance "moves,"
supposed to be erotic like the tango. It looks more like people are playing
"Twister." The song concludes with Felipe doing that stupid whistle with his
back to the camera again.

Up in the booth, a young man comes in and says "Hey your stuff is
terrific." As Ken pointed out in The Girl in Gold Boots, movies which have
people who are supposed to be artistically gifted always have the supporting cast
enthusing about how great their talents are. This is because what we see on screen doesn't
support this.

Another common trick is to have any participants, such as the audience,
break out in overly enthusiastic applause, cheering, and whistling. This is particularly
common in performance movies such as Staying Alive and the Streisand remake of A
Star is Born. This movie isn't competent enough to pull this trick. The audience in
this case looks as though it couldn't give a toss what was being played--Dance music, a
polka, three minutes of white noise, "The Battle Hymn of the Republic"...

Jack says "Thank you my son," lending evidence to my theory
that this was made from the scripts of three or four bad movie scripts shuffled together
like a deck of cards. Jack has him take over, then rushes out to receive the praise. Not
surprisingly, there's only one fan.

Sam seems to be converted.
She wants to know if he has more songs. Jacks says he does. "They're all at various
stages of completion." She wants him to assemble a demo tape, which they will take to
a record company.

"There's more to it than that," he protests. He also says
"nobody has time for anybody" and won't give him a shot. He doesn't add that
there's the small matter of him having very little talent. This seems to be a strangely
subdued Jack. Earlier he thought that all he had to do was DJ a few songs at the club and
bang, instant millionaire songwriter. Now that he has (apparently) been a hit, you'd think
this delusional man would be even more convinced of his talent.

Sam says that while he was flunking out of school, she was dating all
sorts of big names in the industry. "Mama has connections!" she cries. And Mama
apparently is perfectly willing to prostitute herself in the name of his career. That's
sweet. What are friends for?

The next scene, Jack is in his room, composing a song (see IMMORTAL
DIALOGUE). Jack's setup seems to consist entirely of some sheets to write music on, a
keyboard, and a pair of headphones. I take all my snarky comments about him being a
musical genius back. He is. How else could he compose the song "Samantha,"
complete with full musical arrangement and singers with just a keyboard and headphones?

The phone rings. Jack asks Sam to get it. Hey, he's the houseboy, and
since I don't think that music career is going to be very lucrative, he better start doing
windows again real soon.

Sam picks up the phone. She's in the middle of some nondescript chore.
She has her hands full so when she says "Hello" the receiver is nowhere near her
mouth. It's also the director's job to spot and reshoot things like this. You really have
to suspect that they used all the footage they shot for this movie. This would explain the
quality, and the excruciating running time--two hours.

On the other end of the phone is Lulu Brecht (Marilyn Sokol). "I
am making this call under extreme duress," she says. "I laugh, I cry, I go on
welfare." She must be predicting her career after this movie. "I am an unmarried
unemployed woman."

Sam asks Lulu what's wrong. That last line sort of explains things, but
Lulu says that Sydney threatened her with the sack unless she made this call. "Me,
who has given that sack the best years of her life," she moans. A word of
explanation, just in case. The phrase "to give someone the sack" is UK slang for
firing someone. I've not heard the phrase used in North America very often. I'm guessing
the scriptwriters weren't familiar with it either, because with that definition in mind,
just try to make sense of "Me, who has given that sack the best years of her
life."

Sydney (Tammy Grimes) speaks for us all by bellowing "Lulu shut up
and give me that phone." Lulu thrusts it her way. Somehow, Sydney hurts her hand, and
begins moaning in pain. As she does, the office chair she's sitting in starts spinning.
"Stop me!" she demands, which Lulu does. This is supposed to be a slapstick
moment. It resembles something Charlie Chaplin might have done when he was three.

Sydney seems to be Sam's former agent. She composes herself, and then
delivers another of the movie's lines that are so bad they hit you like a smack in the
face.

"How fat are you?" she asks.

"Enormous!" cries Sam. "I've blown up like the
Hindenburg." She whacks a wooden piece of furniture with a stick and rope. I can't
wait until they invent a labor saving device that will whack furniture with a stick and
rope for us. It really is a tedious chore.

Sydney wants Sam to come back to work for her, but Sam's enjoying her
retirement. Sydney says that she made Sam the biggest model of the 70s, and hints that Sam
owes her. Sam says "The 70s are dead and gone. The 80s are going to be something
wonderfully new and different, and so am I." Bold prediction. With sensibilities like
that, you have to wonder why it's wallowing in a dying 70s musical genre.

"You are passing up the chance of a lifetime!" growls Sydney.
Yeah, that's what they said when Valerie wondered whether to sign onto this film or not.
Sam doesn't bite, and the call ends, but not before Sam invites Lulu over to see her new
place. Does this mean that the she just met Jack and had him move into this place, or he's
been staying with her awhile and came here with him? If so, again--why, why, why?

Sydney continues to plot (the closest thing to plot we get). She wants
Sam to appear in a milk commercial. She vows to deliver Samantha Simpson. "To the
diary association?" asks Lulu, perplexed. "We are going to make milk more
glamorous than champagne," promises Sydney. She's also going to recommend that milk
be put in a new bottle, and that they cork it. Wow, she must be one powerful agent. This
scene may have been meant to be funny, but it's hard to separate this movie's comic
moments from its genuine convictions.

Back at the apartment, Sam is doing another lame chore. She is banging
a bucket. I hope they invent a device that does this, too. In fact, they should combine it
with the device that whacks furniture with wood and rope, so you have one convenient
multi-purpose machine. And hey, make it fire shoes at the wall, and we'll all have
significantly more leisure time during the day.

"Sam, you gotta hear this!" says Jack. He's written another
song, which he plays for her. He starts singing along, the "words" not even
vaguely matching the beat of the song. Jack asks Sam what she thinks. Her response? One
word, and it begins with "S."

"Sweet," she says. Had you going there for a minute, didn't
I?

Another awkward edit as we cut between two views of his dismayed
reaction. "Sweet?" he says. "Johann Strauss wrote suites." A clever
play on words. But actually, Strauss was famous for waltzes. They try to cover this
by having Jack say "Suites are for waltzes," but it doesn't quite jibe. Oh yeah,
another definition time.

ed(it-or: noun, one who edits.

It's the editor's job, under direction from the director, to seamlessly
edit scenes together. Therefore, you shouldn't jump suddenly from one shot of Guttenberg
to another without some kind of logical camera progression. For example, jumping out to
see both Sam and Jack in the frame. When both shots show Jack basically doing nothing, it
looks awkward. A first time director might not know this, but the editor should. At any
rate, they both must have seen how bad it looked, because anyone watching it can tell
there's something wrong, even if they can't put it into words.

Sam says she can't hear the music because of his voice. He asks about
the lyrics. What lyrics? Jack was just baaing along to the music, like Disco Sheep. She
says "The song may be wonderful, but your voice sounds like a cry for help."
Finally, some insightful musical criticism. Incidentally, that music sounds like the thing
that's making the man cry for help.

Sam speculates that they need singers. Jack says nobody sings,
everybody dances. That's right Jackie, you musical expert you. Look all the instrumentals
that have tied up the Billboard charts. Like, uh...uhmmm... Incidentally, if nobody sings,
why were you worried about the lyrics, anyway?

During part of this conversation you can easily spot Guttenberg waiting
for Perrine to remember her lines. Taking her cue from the Suzanne Sommers Three's
Company School of Acting, she says to the camera "This calls for some very
serious plotting and scheming." She then announces "I'm going for a Baskin
Robbins rush."

Next scene, she's walking out of Baskin & Robbins, and spots Felipe
at a market. His clothing is marginally more subdued. He's wearing a single feather
instead of a bonnet. Sam asks how he is and he says "C, D minus." No Felipe, she
asked you how you were, not what you got in high school music. Apparently, he took his
feathers in to be oiled, and he's just wearing a loaner now. Well, the comedy part of this
musical/comedy is up to snuff with the musical portions.

"You think you've got problems?" she asks. "Jack needs
singers." Both of you stop. You're breaking my heart. It's a tragi-comedy now I see.
Sam wants to know where she can get professional singers for free. "Professional and
for free," laughs Felipe. "That you ain't gonna find." She asks Felipe if
he sings.

Now obviously, no movie could be so corny as to have one character ask
"Do you sing," and then have the other character do a double take and say
"DO I SING?" and than start singing. No movie, except this one right here.

"DO I SING?" cries Felipe. "When I'm calling
yoooo-ooo" he croons, and adds that damn whistle again. This time he's facing the
camera, so we have to see him lip-sync it. The lip-syncing is almost as good as a Godzilla
movie. Sam tells Felipe to go to her apartment for a pre-arranged song/recording session.
See, this movie introduces problems only to have them solved 30 seconds later. That's why
it lurches on for most of its running time with no plot.

By the way, old-time movie fans will recognize Felipe's choice of song
as the "Indian Love Call" from Rose Marie, a 1936 Jeanette MacDonald and
Nelson Eddy flick. They were what passed for camp back during the Depression. It's nice to
see a movie that is boldly pioneering new levels of camp pay tribute to its roots.

In a seamless transition (picture the cinematic equivalent of driving
your car over the curb), Sam starts an inane monologue about how you just never know if
the people you're acquainted with can sing. Suddenly, the Cowboy Village Person (Randy
Jones) is walking next to her, not Felipe. He agrees, and then begins singing "Dry
Bones" ("Head bone's connected to the neck bone"). This is apparently to
prove that he can't sing.

"Ping," says Sam wisely, and then invites him to the
gathering at her place. Sam seems to have bought some strange ice cream, too. She'd taken
bites out of it earlier, but now it's whole again. Cigarettes, candles and ice cream, Miss
Director. Watch for them, they're continuity headaches.

Ping? Did you say ping?

Next, she's telling some guy with a clothes rack about the gathering,
and he thinks it's the dumbest idea he's ever heard. Hey, I like this guy already. He says
that forming groups in your backyard "went out with Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney on
the late show." This gets Sam thinking.

In the very next scene, she's talking to Construction Worker Village
Person (David Hodo). He always catches Rooney and Garland on the late show, he says. How
convenient. This group gathering stuff is hard work. She's been at it a whole three
minutes and only has three members. CWVP sings in commercials, but longs for the big time.
Is he serious about singing? "Fame...fortune...platinum records...It's every boy's
dream." Cue music.

Now, musicals are hard to put together well. Some of the most awkward
moments in a musical are the ones building up to a song and dance number. It's difficult
to do without making it look forced, or cheesy, or ridiculously staged. Our director
cleverly sidesteps this problem by simply inserting a musical number. One moment,
dialogue, next moment, singing. Construction Worker Village Person simply starts to
imagine a musical number. That's creative.

This particular song features CWVP singing a ditty called "I Love
You to Death." The set for the musical, since it's happening in a person's mind and
the sky is the limit, is what appears to be an elaborate set of pipes and monkey bars.
That's it. Dancers in red sequined dresses and heels writhe in and out of the bars. They
throw glitter at him. Occasionally, they scratch and bite him. One steps on his hand with
her heels. Some rip his shirt. He pulls some hair. Is this a dance number or a Cat Fight
scene from a Women in Prison flick?

This song is a typical example of what's wrong with the soundtrack and
dance numbers. First, it has nothing to do with what characters are feeling in the movie.
Most musicals use songs in part as means of expressing what characters are feeling or
intending to do. If it doesn't, it isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it takes a skilled
filmmaker to make it click. This song, like all the others in the movie, doesn't convey
any kind of emotion or feeling, not even lust.

Second, the lyrics consist mainly of CWVP repeating "I Love You to
Death" about 34,892 times. Third, the cutting is so bad, catching glimpses of dancers
not dancing, but striking poses (when they're actually all the way in the frame). And
finally, well, it sucks. Disco is uh...not to all tastes, to put it diplomatically. But if
even if you hate disco, thirty seconds of this music is enough to make you long for the
Bee Gees.

Our musical number ends with CWVP running into what appears to be the
Time Tunnel (cheeseball old sci-fi series. Catch it on late night TV) and suddenly coming
to. The bad cinematography coupled with the bad acting makes the scene look like a
character in a porno movie waking up from a fantasy about a threesome. Anyway, he's good
enough for Sam, and gets invited to the shindig.

Later, we see Lulu coming out a store called the Erotic Baker. In
retrospect, this should send chills down your spine, but more on the Divine Miz L in a
minute. Sydney pulls up in a cab. Another, older woman comes out of the Erotic Baker
carrying...a loaf of bread. It's not particularly erotic as bread goes, but anyway. Seeing
Sydney bending over as she futzes with something in the cab, the woman hits Sydney across
the butt with the bread. Wow, the filmmakers really have a talent for adding a natural and
humorous spin to those mundane every day occurrences, don't they?

Sydney, showing remarkable poise, stands, grabs the bread, and hits her
back. She drops the bread back into the lady's arms, and then walks off. Says it all
really. I'd say that this humorous interlude was added to pad out time...but this movie is
two hours long.

And now ladies and
gentlemen, let's meet Olympic Gold Medallist Bruce Jenner in his movie debut as Ron White,
a conservative tax lawyer who will become Sam's love interest. With a Luke Skywalker
haircut and wearing an almost baby blue suit which reminds me of the one I wore to First
Communion, mere words cannot express just how out of place he looks here. Now admittedly,
this movie is so patchwork that it looks like maybe three or four equally bad movies
edited together, but trust me, Brucie doesn't belong in any of them.

In fact, Bruce looks like he knows he has no business being in front of
the camera. That expression on his face seems to suggest he's thinking "Gee, I don't
think I'm doing very well, but the movie people said I could be here, and they know what
they're doing, so it must be all right." Bruce, if only you knew. You could write the
script, direct, compose the soundtrack and do the choreography. You could hardly do a
worse job than the movie people.

Bruce makes his debut in one of those scenes in this movie that will
have you staring in confusion. First, he's carrying a small box. Just in case we don't
notice this box, a young woman passing by says "Nice box." Ron giggles. Oh those
wacky New Yorkers. Fortunately, he doesn't return the compliment, avoiding crude humor.
Next, he sees a moped knock over an old lady. "Oh no! She got hit!" he says
through his nose.

Going to help her, the old lady gets up, brandishing a gun. "Don't
move, sh*thead," she says. She begins to rob him in. In the middle of Greenwich
Village. In the middle of the street. During what looks to be early afternoon. Uh-huh.
Non-New Yorkers have heard about how supposedly uncaring New Yorkers are, but nobody
commits a blatant robbery like this. If for no other reason than criminals don't want to
be recognized. She sits on the back of a moped, and the driver takes off. Ron growls and
scowls as she goes. I suspect they had some audio problems while recording this scene live
and had to get the actors back in to redub their dialogue, because the lips aren't synced.
Hey, it's a grand old musical when they can't sync the dialogue, never mind the singing.

When the scene concludes, you find yourself asking "What was the
point of that?" Here's our theory. It was supposed to be funny. Bruce Jenner is an
athlete, and although he doesn't look like a bruiser like Arnold Schwarzenegger, he would
of course be physically fit. I guess it's supposed to be ironic that a little old lady
robbed the young and able Bruce Jenner. Tell you what, with jokes like this, I'll just
save my laughter up for the end of the movie and let it out all at once, okay?

Another pointless scene follows as Sydney gets into a phone booth and
dials. It's a rotary dial phone (kids, ask your parents!) With just three numbers, she
stops dialing and expects to listen. Then, her fingernail gets caught in the dial. Har
har. Stop it. You're killing me.

All right, one of the longest scenes in the movie follows. Also the
most unnecessary. It lasts over 20 minutes, and you can trim it down to a third at least
(see definition for Editor). The scene is supposed to introduce some new characters, and
let us hear the newly formed group. But there's so much filler, particularly with the
non-funny funny bits, it drags on and on and on...Watching it is like watching someone
bleed to death.

It all starts with Felipe and Jack moving an amp. Sam is cooking. She
asks Felipe to get a blue wheel Christmas decoration for the recording session. Jack
protests that it's just a recording session. A recording session in someone's backyard? In
New York? That'll produce quality sound. Anyway, Sam wants magic in the atmosphere and
hopes that it will rub off on the tape. I guess they're recording Christmas Carols.

Unexpectedly, Tim Curry appears in the movie. Funny, didn't see his
name in the credits...Oh wait a minute, it's Lulu. In her first scene Lulu was wearing a
skirt, and her hair looked slightly longer. This made her look much more effeminate than
she does now. With her hair up, and in a blue and white dress that looks like something a
woman four times her age might wear today, Lulu now bears an uncanny resemblance to Tim
Curry, especially as Doctor Frank N. Furter in The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

She'll spend most of her time on screen lusting after everything that
moves. Considering the multisexuality of Doc Furter, this makes the resemblance even
stronger. I swear, you keep waiting to hear her burst out singing "I'm a sweet
transvestite from transsexual Transylvania." She doesn't, which is a pity, because
even the weakest tune from Rocky Horror is about a hundred times better than the
best in Please Stop the Music.

Lulu sizes up the mostly naked Felipe. "You tell him I'll make up
for the indignities they suffered in Roots," she vamps. Watching the lusty
Lulu is like having your grandparents hit on you. It's about the most perverse and
unerotic thing you can imagine. Lulu seems to go after anything too. She probably sees
sexual possibilities in her breakfast cereal. Now, about the Roots comment. Felipe
doesn't actually look Native American, but Black. Now, was this supposed to be a humorous
misidentification of oppressed minorities, or is Lulu acknowledging that he is Black? Oh,
why do I even ask?

Sam meanwhile is deciding between relish and mustard, and eventually
decides on mustard. It turns out she's making lasagna (?!?). She accidentally drops her
contact lens in, which of course she squealingly over-reacts to. Lulu advises her to be
original and leave it in. "Call it Lasanga Crunch." How much farther to some
actual humor is it, Papa Smurf? "Not far now."

Sam doesn't find the
contact, but instead decides to "crack the whip on the boys." Lulu smirks
"Into S&M, eh?" I'm shuddering at these words. Lulu, all bad movie fans are
masochists at heart.

In the backyard, Sam suggests Jack hand out the lyrics "while
they're in the mood." Jack says he ran out of stationary and was unable to make
copies. Wow, Mr. Genius Composer sure came prepared. Sam suggests he use the paper
napkins. I guess this is what would have happened if Ed Wood had decided to make musicals.
Sam says nobody eats until she hears music. But that will make them lose their appetites!

All right, some of the Village People gather around Jack, who explains
the setup. His music is in 4/4 time, which is like totally unheard of for modern
pop music. Jack says they'll record the rehearsal, and overdub it. More authentic music
industry lingo! Guttenberg begins baaing along to the music again. Maybe we should call
this Ewe Can't Stop the Music. Hahaha! I slay me!

Back in the kitchen, Lulu is complaining. "Sam, this place is
starting to look like a Terrarium." Sam says that people and animals are too
demanding. The only successful relationship she can maintain is with a plant.
"Hmmm...how bizarre," purrs Lulu. Since watching this movie is turning me into
vegetable, I'm worried Lulu's going to set her sights on me next.

Sam's also "discovered the joys of housework." Lulu's
response can be found in IMMORTAL DIALOGUE. Now talk turns to Samantha's ex, Steve Waits,
a record company president. Smell a plot point coming up? Sam reveals she had to make an
appointment to break up with him, and that he "didn't bat an eye." Instead, he
kept talking on two phones, trying to sign Rod Stewart. This isn't the last time this name
is dropped in the picture. I'm surprised Stewart didn't sue to get his name taken out.

Apparently Steve had a breakdown, but Sam says it was just an excuse to
write-off a trip to the Bahamas. What a jerk, huh? I guess she should probably remove that
convenient photo of him from her shelf.

Lulu notices that Sam is straining the sauce through a small sieve, and
asks what she's doing. Sam says "Do you think I am going to serve an expensive
contact lens to that crowd?" That's right, Sam. Save contact lenses for when good
company comes over.

Anyway, they decide to "check up on the Vienna Boys Choir."
Lulu brings out a bowl of unidentified food, possibly salad, possibly Quaaludes. Spotting
Felipe, she winks and comes on to him in the most obvious manner. Felipe winks back (see
AFTERTHOUGHTS for more discussion).

Jack takes Lulu aside and says he's really nervous. "What if this
doesn't work out?" Lulu tells him not to worry. "Auntie Lulu has a great relaxer
direct from Mother Nature." She reaches into her dress and pulls out a joint. No, not
a freak out scene! No! Anything but that!

"You have some of this and I'll have some of yours," says
Lulu. Impressively, Jack doesn't flee in terror, but instead asks what she means.
"Please," she says. "With all of the plants Sam's got around here I'll take
some of the home-grown stuff." Phew, she's just talking about drugs. I was so worried
that "I'll have some of yours" meant...okay, let's just not pursue this line of
thought. Why Lulu wants to get high smoking Rhododendron leaves is anyone's guess though.
Jack asks if Lulu grows her own. "Does the postman ring twice?" she asks. Hey, I
think I'll turn this off and go watch that movie right now (the 1946 version).

In the kitchen, Sam is still straining for the contact. There's a knock
at the door. She grabs a Kleenex and begins wiping a spot on her blouse while she opens
the door. Heeere's Ronnie! "Your sister sent you a cake," he says, flustered.
"An old lady just robbed me!" Sam doesn't seem that interested, and lazily asks
him to run through that again. Then she asks how Ron knows her sister. Ron reveals that he
lived next door to her in St. Louis.

To give you an idea of how poorly plotted this movie is, the first time
I saw this scene I though Ron and Sam were already involved. Their relationship throughout
the movie hardly progresses, so I thought they'd already established it previously. Nope,
it appears it's just beginning. So Ron apparently came all the way from St. Louis to
deliver a cake from her sister.

"She must have been 80 years old," Ron rants. "Oh,
that's not my sister," replies Sam. "I mean she's older than I am..." How
much farther to some actual humor, Papa Smurf? "Not far now."

Ron complains that the robber got his wallet, his class ring, and his
Phi Beta Kappa key. Humanitarian Sam is just glad the robber didn't get the cake, because
she forgot to get dessert. We can tell these two will fall in love because already they
show great concern for each other. More dialogue reveals that Ron has just moved here, and
that he's a tax lawyer. Sam says that she's mad at the IRS, and is thinking of filing late
next year. Oh, that'll show them. They'll be so alarmed and afraid that they'll penalize
her for filing late. Hey, why not skip filing altogether and really teach them a lesson?

As Ron goes to the phone to call the police, we get another bad edit.
Sam approaches the camera, still wiping a sauce stain from her blouse. Either they held
the shot too long, or they were trying to tease us with a cleavage shot but cut it too
soon. She very nearly thrust her entire chest right into the lens.

Suddenly, Alicia shows up with another one of the Village People in
tow. It's the Police Officer. His name is Ray Simpson. He's no relation to Sam,
apparently. Did the scriptwriters not realize that they would have two people with the
same last name in the script? Why not change Sam's last name to something more
imaginative?

Alicia says she met him at an audition. Apparently, he used to sing
with a group of officers called "The Cop-Outs." Beaming, she asks "Clever,
huh?" Nah, knowing the music, "Police Brutality" seems more fitting.

Sam takes Alicia off to show her something "Divine." Ron asks
Simpson "Are you really a policeman?" He replies "You don't know a black
Irishman when you see it?" Bless poor ol' Brucie, you can tell he doesn't know how to
react to that line. Really, it's not his fault. He's just not cut out for this, and the
filmmakers should have known it. He looks like somebody from Payroll who wandered into the
shot accidentally.

"Uh, I did get robbed by an old lady," Brucie says.
Instantly, Simpson asks "On a moped?" Apparently Grannie is on a regular crime
wave in NYC. Simpson begins to write down the details, but in walks Felipe. Felipe does a
double take at the sight of Ron (he's dressed conservatively, so he looks out of place,
get it?). Felipe asks if they're here to sing. Simpson says he is, reclaims his pencil so
he can write down the lyrics, and off they go, leaving Ron bristling.

Outside, Lulu and Jack are rejoining the fray, giggling. It looks like,
unlike a certain US politician, Jack inhaled. He's worried about people being able to
tell. "Relax, honey," says Lulu. "Next time I'll get you some magic
mushrooms." And then he can write a script to the movie about how the Village People
were formed.

Alicia introduces Jack to Officer Simpson, who is in his full police
uniform. At this point, the director should have yelled "Cut! Steve, it says in the
script 'Upon seeing Simpson, Jack looks dismayed and worried,' not 'Upon seeing Simpson,
Jack looks lobotomized.'" Guttenberg stands there, slack-jawed. They even show his
trip from his perspective. They slow the film down and blur the image slightly, they same
"trick" they use in many of the musical numbers.

Wow! What filmmaking technique! Did the director smoke up to best learn
how to shoot this scene? If so, Nancy Walker joins such luminaries as Otto Preminger, who
directed the freak-out "comedy" Skidoo. Preminger allegedly took LSD in
order to better film an acid trip sequence in that movie. Perhaps not coincidentally, both
Skidoo and Must Stop the Music end up being mentioned in the same kinds of
film books--ones with titles like The Worst Films of All Time.

Cut back to Sydney. It's now
dark, and she's in the phone booth still. Yep, go ahead and milk the gag. It still has
plenty of possibilities. She pulls loose, then tries to exit the booth. The door is
jammed. "How much farther to some actual comedy, Papa Smurf?" "Not far
now." A bum pushes open the door and finally Sydney is loose. And there was much
rejoicing. Hurrah.

Back at Sam's, Bruce is watching the spectacle in the backyard.
"What is this, some kind of half-way house?" he asks. "That's as good a
name as any," says Sam. "C'mon, we're getting into the music business." The
Village People are "Doop doop dooping," practicing for a song, and then Felipe
does that stupid whistle. Count to ten, breathe easy, no stress...

Sam introduces Ron to Lulu. Sam identifies her as "the best
dresser in the business." Best dresser? Either Lulu's on holiday or the business is
deep trouble. "My undressing ain't bad either," Lulu says. Please Ron, just take
her word for it.

Now Ron asks a question that might be on your mind if you care at this
point. Seeing Felipe, he inquires "Why is he dressed as an Indian?" Sam responds
"Maybe it's his fantasy," sticking out her tongue. And there you have it folks.
Satisfied?

Ron says that being a cowboy is his fantasy, but he doesn't dress like
one. "Too bad," says Lulu. "We can use another hand on this spread."
No Lulu, one is already enough. If we had two cowboys we'd have to get two Indians, and
before you know it things are even more of a mess.

Who should arrive next but Jack's mom Helen Morell (June Havoc),
wearing--to borrow Darren McGavin's line from A Christmas Story when he sees little
Ralphie in the bunny suit--"a pink nightmare." She's all enthused about Jack's
music and can't wait until she sees something produced by Jack on Broadway. Ah, parents
and their blind faith. Jack begs Mom not tell everyone he's a genius. Hilariously, she
simply responds, "You're my son," as if she's well aware of that. Next, she
starts showing off her outfit to Sam. "How do you like my outfit? Gucci? Pucci?
Thelucci?" I was thinking "Uzi" myself.

Tactful Sam says "It's colourful." Her distaste is evident,
but you know the old saying. People who wear baby blue floral print dresses that look like
they're made out of crepe paper (as Sam does) shouldn't throw stones.

The gang sits down to eat. HEY WAIT A MINUTE! Earlier Sam said nobody
ate until she heard some music! Damn it, I hate when movies do that! I can put up with the
dancing like St. Vitus sufferers, the script that reads like the minutes of the monthly
meeting of the Guild of Village Idiots, and the direction by deep space satellite, BUT
THIS IS TOO MUCH!

Anyway, there's a 20-second shot of nothing but guests wandering now.
It's stuff like this that padded the running time.

Behind the fence of Sam's backyard, Sydney has arrived. She tries to
sneak in by climbing the fence. Why she doesn't go through the front door isn't explained.
But hey, it will be a thing called "funny" if she climbs the fence. She
accidentally steps on a cat (see IMMORTAL DIALOGUE). Sydney tumbles over the fence, Ron
catches her. Lulu says that oft-repeated phrase after the movie came out: "With God
as my witness, I swear I had nothing to do with this."

Sam tells Sydney that this is ridiculous. "You have arrived here
like the wicked witch of the west." Sydney brilliantly retorts "And you have
turned into Snow White. And here are the seven dwarves." She points randomly at this
odd crew. "Sleepy, Sneezy, Grumpy and..." she notices Ron. If you're guessing
she says "Dopey," guess again. "Gorgeous," she says. Sydney introduces
herself as an agent, and offers him a job. "Something tells me you'd really fit into
a pair of jockey shorts." Funny, I was thinking the entire cast and crew would look
tres chic in a straightjacket.

Anyway, they sit down to eat. Ron sticks a napkin in his vest, pursing
his lips like an orangutan. Sydney gets a sample of "Lasagna Crunch." "Is
it much further to some actual humor, Papa Smurf?" "Yes it is, now Smurf
up!"

Jackie's Mum starts gushing again. "My son recording a real live
backyard album," she marvels. Real live backyard album? This is a common thing? She
compares it to Judy Garland, Sophie Tucker, or Minnie Pearl selling fried chicken (?).
Felipe starts to speak, but she puts a hand over his mouth. Thanks Mom. Can you be around
when he starts singing?

Jack uncomfortably says that these people are doing him a favour. Mom
responds "They should get down on their knees," one of the movie's more
uncomfortable double entendres.

Finally, we get to the song. The Village People get together and sing
"Magic Nights." The song is forgettable, but not too abrasive. Although,
considering these guys just met a few minutes ago, this song is suspiciously well put
together. Almost as if it was prerecorded, in fact. Oh, occasionally, singer Cop Village
Person will glance down at the lyric sheet for "realism," but that's all.

Jack is at the front, not sure what he's doing. As the composer you
think he might be directing them, but he seems to be just dancing like there's a rabid
weasel in his shorts. Highlights of this musical number include Lulu nearly raping Ron,
and if you look closely, Alicia seems to be having problems with a chair. It seems as if
the extras in this scene were just told to dance randomly. Weren't they supposed to be
recording this? People jumping up on the picnic table in Sam's yard aren't going to help
the sound quality.

This is too much for Ron, who attempts to leave. Sam catches him at the
door. Somehow during the dancing, she acquired an entirely different outfit. This one is
all white.

"Your friends are a little far out for me," says Ron, as we
hear the music playing in the background. Sam says she accepts people's peculiarities as
long as they don't hurt people. Well Sam, they inflicted this movie on innocent
moviegoers, does that count? Sam says "I don't judge people," (or movies,
apparently) "I accept them." Ron asks where she draws the line. "With
uptight squares like you," she answers. Okay, they hate each other, and register zero
chemistry on screen. Naturally they'll sleep together the next time they meet.

Returning to the backyard, the song is still going on. "Sam, am I
crazy or does it sound wonderful?" cries Jack. "Yes, both of the above,"
she replies. I'm sorry, that's the wrong answer. The correct response was "A".
"What do we do now?" asks Jack. Apparently, he still doesn't know. Does he have
any idea what being a music composer entails? Fortunately or unfortunately, Sam is there
to think for him. "Self-recording publishing rights," she says. Just like that,
huh?

The song finishes with a flourish. We see the remaining cast from a
shot looking directly down at the picnic table. We hear the words "Magic
Nights," and they whip out their arms. They're gathered around the table in what may
have been meant to be a circle, an oval, a rectangle, or a football shape. It seems as
though the recording of the song gradually faded out, but because they're supposed to be
singing the song, they couldn't film this. So they hammered on this new ending. It's so
obviously tacked on you can see the staples on the celluloid. And the soundtrack sounds
like a record needle jumped.

But, the scene is over, hurrah! Never in my life while I have to look
through it again. I feel like I did the day I quit my restaurant job.

The next day, Sam is returning home from some meetings with record
types. She tried to get some people interested in Jack's tape, but they wanted to discuss
it over dinner. She says it's a prime example of the casting couch. A model with a name
like Sam's has to put up with this?

Jack calls the results depressing. Never mind that his friend was hit
on by sleezeball showbiz types. What about his career? Sam agrees that it's
"Critical. I ate two snoballs, a dingdong, and a couple of twinkies."

They go into the apartment, and Jack asks "Who's the most
important record person we both know?" That would be Steve Waits, Sam's ex, but she's
not going back to him. Jack asks why not, and then delivers a line always quoted in the
Bad Movie guides: "Anyone who can swallow two snoballs and a dingdong shouldn't have
any trouble with pride." It's a beauty, isn't it?

"You're doing him a favor, Sam," says Jack. That's why the
other people she saw would have checked out the tape. When big celebrities back a project,
people start to listen. Anyway, Sam goes to her wardrobe to pick out a dress. She can't
decide between "woman of the world or innocent little girl." Then she asks
"Why haven't I heard the pitter-patter of little stewardesses' pumps lately?"
Jack says he's given up his love life until his music gets published. Whew. Now we don't
have to worry about him reproducing.

Knowing how long it could take, Sam begins to protest, but Jack tells
her not to even think about it. "Pick out your dress, and go out there and sell your
ass off." Another unfortunate prostitution double entendre. Sam picks a dress and
says "Well, this definitely calls for tits and tears." Fine, as long as you've
got your pride, Sam.

Cut to the office of Steve Waits, record company president (Paul Sand).
He is picking up phones and yelling bits of business babble into each of them. In walks
Sam. She enters in slo-mo, and "seductive" music starts playing. Actually, it's
about the least erotic seduction music I've ever heard. It sounds like Christmas Carols. I
swear I heard Burl Ives singing in the distance "You know Dasher and Dancer, Comet
and Cupid..." Sorry, that isn't a turn-on.

On seeing Sam, Steve momentarily forgets about his phone. He asks Sam
for a kiss. She offers her cheek, but just before he can make contact he bellows into the
phone "50,000, are you crazy? Who did you think I am, Neil Bogart?" Who?

Sam is put off by "the touch-tone kid" who keeps talking into
his phones rather than to her. Soon though, he's sitting with her on the couch, begging
her to come back to him. He starts to kiss and whisper to her, yet at the same time is
stroking a nearby phone. She doesn't seem to be rejecting his advances, surprising for
someone who wanted to stay off the casting couch.

When he whispers into the
phone hoping to hear Rod Stewart, she gets fed up. Finally, we get to the point of this
scene. She hands him a tape of Jack's music. He complains that everyone is pushing their
music on him. Geez, what do they think he is, president of a record company? When Sam
tells him Jack made the tape, he asks if Jack is the houseboy who let her plants die.
Hmm...so he's as good around the house as he is with a keyboard. Maybe we should keep him
out of dental school for the safety of our teeth.

Steve also complains about the greedy people he has to deal with. Shed
a tear for the poor exploited record company, will you? He talks about the IRS taking all
his money, and his groups write their own songs and don't share the royalties with anyone.
At this, I nearly choked. The record company doesn't get a cut of royalties? Obviously,
this is a record company from an alternate universe. No wonder everyone's trying to get
signed with him.

Sam asks for a demo session. "That's easy, you got it," he
says. He then makes plans for a romantic getaway with her, but she says she's taken a vow
of chastity. But she does tease him. "Shooby-dooby-do," she says. Wow, I'm
getting hot. I need an instant cold shower. Where's Lulu?

Sam exits the office, and who should she bump into but Ron. Ron is
apparently here for a meeting with some other suit-type guys. Looking for an excuse to
leave, he asks a secretary for directions to the men's room. She points one way, he points
in the direction of Sam and says "That way, thank you." He then runs off in
pursuit. As far as delivering a comic line goes, Bruce Jenner is an excellent Olympic
athlete.

Ron loses her at the elevator, jamming his briefcase inside, but he
only ends up losing it (slapstick!). He runs downstairs and finally catches up to her
outside. Ron apologizes for his behavior the previous day. He wants to be friends. She
says skeptically that the only one who ever said that and meant it is Jack. Would this be
the same Jack that grabs your ass as a greeting and likes the "wiggle that you got in
your jeans"?

Inexplicably, Ron wants to help with the group. She agrees. He tries to
hail a cab, but they ignore him. Naturally, no movie would be so corny as to then have Sam
hike up her skirt and instantly have a cab stop for them while old-style strip routine
music plays. No movie except this one here. "It takes more than a pretty face to get
anywhere in this town," she says. Yes, apparently you have to put out too.

Sam and Ron meet Jack back at the apartment. Ron says he can't get the
song out of his head. We sympathize, being scarred for life by the music too. Sam tells
Jack that he's got a demo session. It seems as though there's a problem though, they don't
have a group. What? What the hell were they doing last night then? Jack moans that
"You just don't put together a group like a laundry load." Sam likes that as
group name (Laundry Load). Hey, let's just keep her out of future decisions on the
creative front.

Why is Jack so worried I wonder? Sam found three singers as a result of
one trip for ice cream. If she goes for a jog, she'll probably come back with an entire
symphony orchestra. Sam also prides herself on using her brains and not her body. Uh,
where did brains come into this? It was painfully clear that Steve was interested in her
body. I might also point out she also flashed some leg just to hail a cab. Her integrity
is highly suspect.

Now for another slapstick moment. She removes a pan of what looks like
burnt lasagna from the oven, then dumps it on Ron's legs. We get the usual squealing, but
she seems more worried about the floor than about Ron. Ah, blossoming romance...
Incidentally, she should have been burnt too, and judging by the angle of the spill, the
stains on Ron's pants are too high up. "Get his pants off," she orders, and she
and Jack get on their knees and begin stripping Ron.

They soon have him stripped to his briefs. Now, is this scene supposed
to be funny? Vaguely erotic? What's going on? When I first watched this movie with my
friend Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro, we would sit through scenes like this that had no
apparent function. We would look at each other and say "Did you catch any of
that?" When we both established that we had absorbed no information or impression,
one of us would ask "Do you want to rewind it?" Then we'd say simultaneously
"Nah!"

While they strip Ron, they make plans to place ads in Billboard to
advertise for group members. She says she can't afford to rent an office and wonders where
they can hold the auditions. So her backyard is fine for recording, but auditions are out?
And why can't "The Garbo of Models" afford an office? How long is she going to
last on these savings--the end of the week?

Fortunately, Ron offers the use of his office. Jack says "Sam's
very delicate. Don't let her see your knees." He wraps some kind of cover (looks like
a table cloth) around them, and leaves to do...whatever, leaving Sam and Ron alone. A
weird exchange begins.

"Wear a dickie?" she asks.

"Smart Alec," he responds.

"You go write the ad!" she says. Uh...yeah.

He sits in what looks like a dentist chair in the living room. He's
only got one sock, the tablecloth, his briefs, and his vest and shirt on. Mere words can't
capture the dorkiness of this scene.

Sam comes in, and turns off the lights. She offers him some wine. Now,
the scriptwriters begin throwing lines in at random. She observes that he looks
comfortable. He says he's starting to get used to the city. She says she's been here since
she was 18, and wouldn't work anywhere else. He says he never met a woman with a male
roommate. "This is the 80s, darling," she says. "You'll see a lot of
things you'll never see before." If this movie is any indication of this, then this
is a prophecy of doom.

Sam spills wine on Ronnie.
Leaning over to try to clean it off, her dress gets caught on the chair. She tells him to
unzip it so she can slide out of it. Anyone spot where this is going? Anyone? Sam spots a
wedding ring on his finger and momentarily gets upset. He says his divorce is coming
through. Wonder why the Granny Robber didn't get this ring? Ron also says he's moved to
New York to have some fun. She slides out of her dress and asks if he's having fun now.
Hey, ask me that question. Then we get her idea of foreplay, as she does the
"This Little Piggy" thing with his toes. By and by he picks her up, and asks
which way to go. She says "To the right, and don't stop 'til sun-up." He goes to
the left. Not a bright one, our Ronnie. Or did she mean her right?

Soon they're in her bedroom which, as Ronnie says, is very orange. She
says it's peach. Whatever it is, it looks like the inside of a clay pot. They fall onto
the bed...accidentally. "You're really dangerous on your feet," she observes.
"We won't have to worry about that for awhile," he says, as suavely as Pee Wee
Herman. He tries to turn the lamp off, but only succeeds in knocking it over. This at
least has the desired effect, and plunges the room into darkness. "This is the 80s,
darling," he says. "You're going to do a lot of things you've never done
before." And after this movie, she will never do them again, thank God.

We're spared any of the gory details. It's the Hitchcock thing. All you
have to do is show a hint of what's going on to scare them. Anyway, next day we spot
Alicia dragging a new member of the Village People into the fold. This is the soldier
(Alex Briley), billed in the credits as the "GI". We also notice the biker
driving up to the law office.

The GI notes that this is a conservative law firm, and is worried about
looking out of place. Now, he's wearing a work uniform, but just about all army uniforms
look formal, at least conveying an air of discipline and professionalism that wouldn't
clash in a law firm, so it's strange remark. Naturally, when they get into the office,
it's a zoo with jugglers, fire-eaters, and just plain nutcases. Comedy!

Inside, Jack is taking auditions. He already knows the GI, so he's
accepted immediately. We notice Sam is dressed like a stewardess. Hey, everyone's on a
uniform kick. Maybe we'll see a McDonald's Cashier Village Person.

One of the people who auditions is a body builder, who works out while
singing "Macho Man," a Village People song otherwise not featured in the movie.
They put up with him and give him the "Don't call us, we'll call you" routine.
Do you see the comedy here? He's a bad singer, singing a Village People song. But we all
know that they are no room for pretenders in this group, right? What a fool for trying to
pass himself off a singer. We've all seen through your game, you would-be infiltrator!

And now let's meet useless character #17, Ron's mom, dressed like Sam's
room is painted. Everyone seems stunned that Ron has a mother. Geez, didn't anyone tell
these people how babies are made? Ron isn't a robot someone assembled. I guess they were
all fooled by his performance. They're also stunned at how she looks. So was I, but for
entirely different reasons. "She looks better than I do," says Sam, proving
herself to be equally adept at her taste in clothing as she is in music.

Mom, as well as Ron's Boss, don't look too thrilled at this crowd.
"Didn't Greenwich Village People go out with the 60s?" she asks.
"That's it!" cries Sam. And now we know how they got their name. Okay, roll the
credits! Please! Nope, there's still more to go. In walks the Biker Village Person (Glen
Hughes). He's not here to audition, but to file an extension on his taxes. He's a toll
booth collector. He's dressed in leather and chains. When someone asks "Do all toll
booth collectors dress like that?" he says "Just the hot ones." Mister
Hughes is listed in the credits as (With God as my witness) "Leatherman."

Jack tells him he's got the wrong room, they're holding auditions for a
singing group. Now, no movie would be so corny as to have one person say they're holding
auditions for a singing group, and then have another character say: "A singing group?
Well, you ain't heard nothing yet." Hey, screw you pal! We've heard plenty.
Don't belittle our pain! And now for the most shocking part of the movie. Leatherman
(sounds like a Superhero who's into S&M) breaks into song, getting atop a convenient
piano. He sings "Danny Boy," an old 40s tune (if I'm not mistaken. You can
hear Harry Connick, Jr. sing it in Memphis Belle).

The shocking part--and I mean this without facetiousness--is that
Leatherman can sing. He has a nice voice, and he holds the tune well. He looks ridiculous
in that get up and can't act, but darn it all, there's a real singer in this movie!
Considering all that's come before, this brief moment is a breath of fresh air. They
readily accept him into the group, which is surprising. His good voice is going to clash
horribly with the rest of the gang.

Ron's Boss though, ain't impressed. He doesn't like this whole singing
thing, and tells Ron as much. Well, Ron's had enough. "This country is over-taxed,
and so am I!" Yep, nothing like a little tax pun to liven things up. See, Ron's not
gonna take it anymore. Bruce, good athlete that he is, still looks totally out of place on
camera and convinces us of nothing. Watching him mouth off is like watching a smurf
threaten to bitchslap Mike Tyson. It just doesn't carry any weight. Anyway, Ron quits his
job to do I don't know what for the group. "I'm the lawyer for the hottest new group
in show business. The Village People."

Suddenly, enter another flake. "I'm James and flames are my
game," he says. Anyway, his fire-juggling act sets off the sprinklers. "I always
knew this job would be a wash-out," says Ron. Everyone laughs, then all the
electrical equipment on the floor, mixed with the water, sends a massive surge of
electricity through the room, killing everyone. No wait, I imagined that part.

Next scene, the gang is on
the street. The conversation that follows is extremely hard to follow. As near as I can
tell, a friend of Ron's is going to let them stay at a local YMCA while they need a place
to work from. Gee, what a generous friend. "It takes more than a pretty face to get
around in this town," says Ron. Yeah, well, pardon me Ron if I'm not so impressed
that you needed to pull to strings just so you could stay at the YMCA. Anyway, if the
mention of the YMCA has you thinking about the song, guess what?

Yep, they begin to sing "YMCA," the Village People's
signature tune. Now, in all movies, there are certain conventions that audiences are
willing to grant a picture. We're willing to watch an action movie and see the hero shoot
twenty guys without taking a scratch because, hey, he's the hero. Sure it's unrealistic,
but so what? We're here to have a good time and we'll let that slide in order to have it.
If filmmakers choose to alter or ignore these conventions, they better know what they're
doing.

In the case of musicals, we accept that music numbers can break out
anywhere, at any time. We don't see a band playing music, but we accept that music is
there. When Julie Andrews ran through the hills singing the "Sound of Music,"
nobody guffawed because we couldn't see the band. It was a premise we granted the movie,
and the movie worked with it skillfully.

In For the Love of God Stop the Music, all the musical numbers
we've seen have chosen not to use that convention. Music has started in this movie because
people have chosen to actually perform a song, play a tape, whatever. They only exception
is "I Love You to Death," but since that was a fantasy sequence set in someone's
head, it doesn't count.

Another good example of what I'm talking about is Purple Rain
(okay, maybe just an example). All the songs in that movie are clearly and deliberately
played by bands. Having done this, they can't just walk into a place, and start singing.
So the movie doesn't. Please I'll Do Anything Stop the Music tries to have it both
ways now by suddenly having them enter the YMCA, and suddenly everyone is choreographed,
including total strangers, with the song. Sorry, you can't do that anymore. You've chosen
to ignore the convention, you can't have it back now. A similar problem occurs in AChange of Habit when "Sunshine Place" starts up.

It's also not really a great place to do this. It's a gym, for crying
out loud. Dirty, smelly, spartan. There are only a few more inappropriate places for a
musical number. Slaughterhouse comes to mind, Gas Chamber is another. Anyway, we see the
gang march happily through the Y. They go through the change rooms, even Sam does. Men
cover up as she approaches. She's wearing a "Macho Woman" T-shirt. Clever huh?

We also get lots of homoerotic images such as men wrestling, showering,
and playing sports. Oh yeah, and for those of you who keep track of these things,
Perrine's breasts are briefly visible during the hot tub scene in this number. If you're
willing to sit through this movie just to get a glimpse, you must be obsessed with Valerie
Perrine. Why not watch Showgirls instead? I gather there's some nudity in that
movie.

We also get some cool camera tricks, the split screen, blurring kind
occasionally used by Sesame Street in the 70s. We also get to see swimmers
fall into a pool in sync, and Bruce Jenner playing basketball. This scene must have been a
relief for Jenner. He can run and jump and play basketball.

So we see lots of sweaty men lifting weights, displaying armpit
hair--the kind of stuff you see in good ol' fashioned romantic musicals. There was a YMCA
scene in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, wasn't there? The song concludes with a
shot of young men collapsing into what may be a Y, but looks more like a V.

Editorial Note from Ken: Im assuming that Jason reviewed this
from one of the newer video editions. You can tell the original video release because it
retains the quick shower shot originally featured in the film. This showcased
a bunch of bared johnsons, presumably for the Groups, uh, hardcore fanbase.
Mysteriously (or not), this shot has, er, disappeared from the video version that I
bought.

By and by, we come to the demo session we were told about, oh, a
century ago. Lulu is in the recording booth with the Village People, some of whom are in
doubt. Leatherman says "I don't know, I'm not a dancer." Lulu says "Come
on, everyone's a dancer." It's assumptions like that that got this movie into trouble
in the first place. Lulu says that they should do what they normally do, but do it
"Sexy." She then does some hip twists they I guess are supposed to be
suggestive, but look more like bad aerobics.

Jack, Ron and Sam are in the control booth, waiting for Steve to
arrive. This gives us an opportunity for some more of Ron's tax humor, which I will not
subject you to (you're welcome). Steve arrives, and after some ringing phone silliness,
Jack tells him that this is the music everyone will be dancing to next month (more like
last year) or whenever they can get the record out. "This is the sound of the
80s," he enthuses. "Everybody's looking for it, and we've got it."
Seeing the group, Ron says he hates Halloween. He asks why they're dressed like that. When
told "They're the Village People," he rolls his eyes. Always the sign of a bad
movie when an antagonist's reaction seems more reasonable than the heroes' view.

The next song, "Liberation," begins. Some problems occur.
There's feedback in the studio, which Lulu tries to fix by adjusting the microphone stand.
Feedback is often the result of microphones placed improperly. The problem is that the
mike is in the singer's hand, so Lulu could toss that stand out the window, it wouldn't
make any difference. Magically, moving the stand does fix the problem.

The choreography is bad in this scene...apparently deliberately, as the
Village People can barely keep out of each other's way. As they dance, Jack looks
frustrated, and the Village People begin giving each other painful looks. Were they
anticipating the reviews? Nope, it seems we have reached the crisis moment of the film.
Defined in your drama textbook as the moment when the character's goals seems furthest
from their grasp. You see, the song isn't turning out the way they'd like. Once again, the
movie is so inept that what would normally be a standard device in any movie is completely
unrecognizable. There are four major problems with our crisis:

1) Pretty wimpy crisis. A song recording isn't going well. Oh no! Look,
in any kind of prerecorded media, there are going to be botched takes. In fact, even if
your very first run-through is perfect, you do another take anyway, just for safety's
sake. Only master auteurs such as Ed Wood and William "One Shot" Beaudine,
working with no time and no budget, would do just one recording of their scenes.

2) This particular song is actually marginally better than the other
songs that came before it. It still sucks, but I find it didn't give me the urge to gouge
out my eardrums like the others did. The choreography blew before this scene, so we can't
really tell the "bad" choreography from the "good."

3) A recording session is not the same as a performance, or an
audition. The purpose of getting people into a studio is to record sound, that's it.
Often, there isn't even a band--the instrumentals are prerecorded. Therefore, there's no
need for the costumes or the choreography, they wouldn't be an issue. It doesn't matter if
you record in your underwear, as long as it sounds good on tape.

4) This movie has no plot to speak of, so there's no point to
introducing a crisis now.

We also get some brilliant camera work, including jamming the camera in
the face of the singers from below while bright lights shine overhead. Don't pause the
movie at this point, otherwise your screen will get phosphor burn.

Outside the studio, Steve is
telling Sam that his intuition is telling him not get involved (Say, the Force is strong
with this one). He even calculates what the band is worth, and shows the figure to Sam.
"That wouldn't feed my cat," says Sam. "You don't have a cat," says
Steve, serving up the punchline of a joke that apparently hasn't been told yet. They argue
some more, and Steve goes to leave, cursing. In walks Alicia, dressed as a nun (?).
Apparently, she's been to yet another audition or something. Thinking she's a real nun,
Steve apologizes in an "amusing" manner. Can just anyone walk into this studio,
by the way?

Next scene, Ron and Jack are drinking on a restaurant patio. They're
laughing it up, apparently they've had a few. Sam and Alicia enter, wanting to know what
they're so happy about. Jack says that Benny Murray is selling the club, going into the
party business. "Tupperware," jokes Alicia. Wow, references like that date the
film better than carbon-dating. Jack's scheme is to have him throw theme parties. The band
sings and dances, they sign other acts, charge $20 a head, plus what they make at the bar.
Sam invites the press and "instant stardom." Pretty iffy scheme to put it
mildly. I've heard Savings & Loans and Condo-sharing pitches that sound more
convincing.

Sam is worried about the cost. Very good Sam. Jack does some math, and
figures they'll make plenty of money with 2000 people coming. I guess the bar staff, other
bands and whatever hall they rent will do this for free, adding to Jack's imaginary
profits. Meanwhile, Sam has an idea for raising the money to throw this shindig. She gives
Sydney a call. 'Hang on to your 8X10s," she advises. She's decided to make the milk
commercial.

Cut to the set of the commercial. Sam is dressed up all housewifeish,
standing in front of a fridge. "Children," she calls. Instantly, a group of
children dressed up like the Village People storm the set. Oh man, can't this be construed
as child abuse? "If you want to grow up big and strong, you've got to drink your
milk," she says. She pours some milk, and the camera zooms in on the spout as a
prelude to dissolving to a stage. The grown-up Village People are dressed in all-white
versions of their costumes and singing "Milkshake." This commercial is
absolutely hilarious. Nobody would make a commercial like this.

First, it's far too long (over three minutes). Second, the only glimpse
of the product we get is a giant glass, where Sam sits, and the Village People mock drink
through giant straws. Women in white costumes, some of whom look to be the fantasy women
from "I Love You to Death" strike seductive poses. And although we've just had
our big crisis of the Village People failing to perform well, suddenly they can dance
again (well, not really, but you know what I mean).

Watch this scene for another bad edit where they lift Valerie Perrine,
but add a second shot in mid-lift, making me wonder if they dropped her the first time.

Pull out to see the gang watching it on TV. Everyone is enthused. Jack
is wearing a plaid jacket like what James Garner used to wear in The Rockford Files.
Lulu says that this is the most glamorous and sexy commercial she has ever seen.
Apparently the only other commercial she's ever seen is that famous luggage commercial
where a gorilla in a zoo bashes around a suitcase.

Sadly, Sydney reveals that the client thought the commercial was too
controversial (not to mention 2:30 longer than TV commercials are supposed to be). Hardly
surprising, but how is that their problem? They do the commercial, they pocket the money,
they go home. They didn't do anything silly like agree to getting paid only if the
commercial was accepted, did they? I hope they didn't waive their acting fees pending the
commercial success of this movie.

But again, problems are solved immediately after being established. If
this were a murder mystery, seconds after the victim had died there would be a trial of
bloody footprints for the Inspector to follow right to the closet door where the killer
was hiding. Ron's Mom is on hand, and she apparently puts together charity fundraisers.
She suggests having them appear at one. Jack, with puppy dog eyes, asks if she would
consider them "Needy." Absolutely. Supporting this crew is definitely charity
work.

Sam decides to try to get Steve to attend. Ron assumes the worst...no,
not that a sequel will be made, but that Sam is going back to Steve. They have a little
spat before deciding that this should be a strictly business relationship. Since the movie
is nearly over (thank God) introducing a split in a relationship that wasn't really
believable to begin with only gives us one more thing not to care about.

Steve has jumped to the same conclusion, and waits for Sam in his
private jet. Who should arrive though, but Jack and his Mom. Some stock footage shows a
plane taking off. This may have been meant to be Steve's plane, but the cabin remains
awfully still. They don't evil tilt the camera. Using a combination of food and sheer
boredom, they beat Steve into submission, and get a contract.

There. He's arrived. He's got his music contract. However, the movie
doesn't seem to realize this. It's carrying on as if tonight will make or break the
Village People. But they've already been signed to a deal, something that neither party
can get out of. But the movie boldly lurches forward. Apparently, Jack, Mom and Steve are
going to visit some stock footage of the Golden Gate Bridge.

All right, big concert night. On stage is the Richie Family, a trio of
women who actually aren't a family, according to the credits. How disillusioning. I don't
much about this band, but they do okay. They sing a song "Give Me a Break,"
dressed like strippers. Much of their number is shot from below the stage. Now, this
particular angle...oooh, how do I put this delicately? Let's just say the shot is looking
up at the girls. And we get to see that one has a good bikini line. Who was the
cinematographer anyway? Some guy they found wearing a dirty raincoat hanging outside the
women's washrooms of a New York bus station? Someone is waving a whip in the audience, by
the way. Make of that what you will.

Cut to the dressing rooms, where Lulu is making calls trying to find
Sam. Ron is worried she might have gone off somewhere with Steve. She also has the
costumes. Funny, the Village People wore them everywhere they went. Suddenly they don't
have them and now they're lost. Way to artificially create tension. But they do so only
for a sec, because suddenly here are the costumes. I hope they have a spare for Lulu,
because she's wearing a hideous dress with bows all over it.

It's almost time for the
Village People to go on stage. They're worried because they've never performed in front of
a large crowed. "Leatherman, don't get nervous," says Leatherman, banging his
head against the wall. Now they agonize that Jack isn't here. Tension! Suddenly, Jack
walks in. Gee, that tension lasted a whole five seconds. Most musicals aren't about end of
the world consequences, but can't they have one lasting problem? Jack reveals that they
have a contract. Hurray! They don't have to sing now. No, really. That's okay. You can sit
down, guys. No!!!

Another bad edit and we see the respected journalist Claudia Walthers
arrive. This is that cameo appearance by Leigh Taylor-Young. She does a forgettable turn,
and I have no idea why they hyped her appearance. Her previous movie credits include The
Adventurers and Soylent Green. She's not exactly a huge star. Anyway, Steve is
on hand, and he informs her "I have no comment at this time." She says she's
here to interview the Village People.

Steve says he's just signed them to a contract. Claudia doesn't seem so
impressed, and is about to walk away when one of her crew suggests they get some
information from him. Good thing he was here to point this out to this clueless, but
respected journalist. She asks him to what extent he's involved. That flusters Steve. So
in all his time as a record exec, he never learned how to schmooze the press? Steve
stutters that he's involved on a very "personal level" with the group. Oh, these
shallow showbiz types, huh? Then he starts hitting on Claudia. Astonishingly it works, and
they go off together.

Sam arrives, and so does Ron's boss, who rehires him and wiggles his
way into the band's management. Sam and Ron sort of make up, but not really. He just
proposes marriage. "I don't know what to say," she says. "Say yes, kiss
me," cries Ron. They kiss, we barf. So, have we tied up all the lose ends yet? No,
suddenly a guy we've never seen before comes in and announces that he has a cure for
cancer. Then another guy comes in, having solved the mystery of the identity of Jack the
Ripper. Yet another guy says he's found a way to get blueberry stains out of whites. Okay,
I'm making it up now. But the part about the milk commercial is true, I swear.

Back in the dressing room, Sydney is mouthing off. Lulu, who has let
her boss her around thus far, says "Sydney, shut your mouth." She is quitting to
become the number one roadie for the Village People. Oh yeah, there's a career with a
long-term future. "Lulu," says Sydney, about get off the best sting in the
movie, "whoever gets you, deserves you." Right on.

Jack has a bit of performance anxiety, still worried that none of this
will work. Jack, open your eyes--none of this has worked since the start. Anyway, he and
the Village People hold hands for a show of solidarity. "We're a group," he says
solemnly. "Geronimo," someone cries, and they hit the stage. Before we do, we
hear that damn Indian call one last time.

Outside, the crowd is already going nuts for a band they haven't heard
yet. See, they don't have to do anything. This movie ended, ten, fifteen minutes ago. But
they're going to inflict one final song on us. This one is about six minutes long (oh the
horror, the horror). It's the title track I'll Give You $1000 If You'll Stop the Music--I
mean, Can't Stop the Music. The Village People arrive in not just campy costumes,
but campy vehicles too. Construction Worker drives up in tractor. GI is in a jeep.
Leatherman and Cop are on their bikes. The whole audience gets carbon monoxide poisoning.
All right, they don't, but it would be a more humane fate.

After about four minutes of basically repeating "You can't stop
the music," the entire cast gets on stage and dances randomly. Roll the credits as
they sing the title over, and over, and over, and over...the crowd doesn't seem to mind,
they must be paid extras. That 20 million-dollar budget had to go somewhere (but it
doesn't look like they spent a nickel over ten grand). The Village People dance as
repetitively as their song.

Glitter and a shower of sparks falls on the crowd, igniting the gas
fumes from the vehicles...ah, no I made that last part up too. The credits show earlier
scenes from the movie, covered in glitter. Yep, even the end credits suck. For example,
the part where it shows the crew responsible for visuals is unreadable because of the
colour scheme. We get to see the names of the songwriters, and notice one of them is named
"Phil Hurtt." Coincidence? I think not.

So that was the story of how the Village People got together, and
started their brave new career. Ironically, the movie pretty much killed it. The Village
People had a few novelty hits, all of them coming out before this movie. Despite trying to
redo their image after the New Wave bands that were becoming popular (so much for their
music of the 80s), they vanished, only to reappear many years later to sing "In
the Navy" in the lame submarine spoof Down Periscope starring Kelsey Grammar.
As bad as that was, it was an improvement over Have Mercy Stop the Music. Well, it
had to be, didn't it?

AFTERTHOUGHTS:

This movie gets my vote for worst musical of the past 20 years. That is
no small accomplishment. Other strong contenders for this suspect honor include Grease2, Xanadu, Thank God It's Friday...the list goes on. It may well be
the worst musical of all time, but I don't have the courage to sit through Paint Your
Wagon, Lost Horizon and At Long Last Love to find out.

Perhaps now is a good time to point out that one of the producers of
this movie is named Jacques Morali (Henri Belolo and Allan Carr being the others).
Hmm...Jack Morell, Jacques Morali? Is this somebody's insane idea of a biography? I have
no idea to what degree this film is supposed to represent real events, nor do I wish to.
It certainly wouldn't be the first time someone shot celluloid in tribute to their ego,
but Steve Guttenberg didn't exactly do a bang-up job of glamorizing him. He doesn't send
the message "I was a studly genius composer," but "I was a geeky chipmunk
on helium and speed."

The Village People were a singing group consisting of homosexual men. I
heard a rumor not too long ago that one of them was kicked out of the group when it was
discovered that he was not gay, but I'll consider that hearsay. The movie does not
deal with the issue of their sexuality. In fact, they seem to be trying to hide it.
Example: Felipe returning Lulu's lusty glances. They show the Village People dancing with
women at several points in the movie. That doesn't mean gay men can't dance with women of
course, but I also noticed that a lot of the time you see women and men of the same race
dancing together, rarely mixed. Sam may not judge people, but I get the feeling that the
whole sexuality issue didn't sit well with some of the decision-makers.

This movie didn't do much for the advancement of understanding
homosexuals. With their extreme macho costumes, they seem to make a point of wallowing in
stereotypes. They may be doing this just to thumb noses at people's perception of gays,
but the script throws in some more stereotypes. Felipe, Leatherman and Construction Worker
like showtunes. You can't say that they're just "acting" because they're playing
themselves (actually, you can't say they're acting for a whole bunch of reasons).

And finally, there's an undeniable subtext in the movie. We get shower
scenes during the "YMCA" number, wrestling routines, people talking about or
actually getting down on their knees, Bruce Jenner getting stripped...they seem to try to
keep homosexuality out of the picture, but they did as good a job at that as they did at
everything else. I've read that they did try to promote this as a family picture (and did
have a promo tie in with the dairy industry!), apparently thinking that the nudity and
drug use was okay for the kiddies.

If they had gone for the disco club types for an audience (what was
left of them), it's possible that that community would have been more open minded about
homosexuality, and they would not have had to make such half-assed overtures to cover it
up. By mixing G and PG moments in with the subtext and other adult themes, they totally
mixed things up, it just added to the confusion and the awfulness.

Is there some bone I can throw this movie? Did it do anything right?
Yes. It ended, albeit two hours too late.

IMMORTAL DIALOGUE:

Jack composes a song:

Jack: "Bup bup bup, bup bup bup, bupbupbupbup...bup."

Lulu sums up her sexual and labor standards:

Lulu: "Housework is like bad sex. Every time I do it I
swear I will never do it again. Until the next time company comes."Sam: "Tacky."

Jack sings along to his disco latest hit, possibly "Mary
Had a Little Lamb":